Page 43 of We Can't Be Friends

I tossed the towel on the counter and sprinted to him.

Cal missed the trash can. He missed the floor, too.

Somehow Cal managed to sit up and throw up all over the bed.

“I’m going to—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence before heaving again.

I held my breath, standing beside him. Rubbing his back, I tried to soothe him. “It’s okay, Callum. Get it out of your system.”

Comforters are replaceable. Callum Sullivan isn’t.

He threw up again. Leaning into my touch, head twisting to look at me. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh. It’s okay.” Cal shook his head in disagreement. “Hey, I promise, it’s okay.” The back of my hand wiped the hair pressed to his forehead. “Do you think you can stand? We need to go to my bed.”

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to be in there.”

His joking was a wave of relief. “I’ll make an exception this one time.”

He gagged. “I smell. S-sh-shower.”

“Uh, yeah, Pretty Boy. There’s nothing pretty about your smell right now. Miraculously, you didn’t get any vomit on your clothes. I’ll clean you up.”

Cal used me as a crutch to stagger to the bathroom. His steps barely coordinated, and we stumbled a few times. Luckily only crashing into one pointed corner. I’ll have a bruise on my thigh tomorrow.

“Here we go.” I sat him on the toilet. Wetting a hand towel, I wiped down the back of his neck and mouth. “You can shower in the morning.”

“Don’t wanna see me naked, Henry?”

“Oh I do.” Our eyes leveled. Murky ocean blue staring back at me. Cal tried and failed to pull the hem of his orange shirt up. “Who dressed you?”

“I wanted to match you.”

“If you remember one thing from tonight, I don’t wear orange.”

“Because purple or blue are your color. Maybe silver.”

“You think?”

His pointer finger tapped my forehead. “I know.” Cal reached for his shirt again. “I’m burning up.”

Placing a hand over his, I helped him. Tugging the cotton up and over his broad shoulders, my knuckles skimmed the lines of his muscles.

“Better?” It took me a minute to reach his face. Dragging my attention up his torso.

“Can you fold my shirt?”

“Seriously?”

“I need it folded.” I nodded my head, laying the folded shirt on the bathroom counter before taking him to bed. “I owe you,” he whispered as I pulled the covers over him. Rolling to face me, I mirrored him as I climbed in on my side.

“Call us even. You stood up for me with Seth.”

“He didn’t deserve you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t deserve you.” He kept rambling, but his words were as clear as they could be. “You’ll realize it soon.” He swallowed. “Everyone does. You shouldn’t even fake date me, it’s a-a good thing you haven’t given me an answer yet.” Cal coughed and I thought he was going to be sick again. “I never live up to their expectations and then let them down. I try. . . I try so fucking hard, Chloe, but it’s never enough. Why isn’t it enough?”

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